


When the Door Begins to Crack

by AsMyWimseyTakesMe



Series: The Witching Hour [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Stiles, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Gen, Not Beta Read, Peter is such a flirt OMG, Rough Trade Episodic Challenge, Rough Trade July 2017, Sheriff is named John, Witcher crossover, Witcher elements in Teen Wolf Universe, the supernatural is semi-known
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-22 17:13:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11971920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsMyWimseyTakesMe/pseuds/AsMyWimseyTakesMe
Summary: Laura Hale gets a message from a friend and comes back to Beacon Hills.(The Witcher Clans were hunted down and completely destroyed when some disaffected hunters and supernaturals decided they didn't want oversight. At least, that's what the bestiaries say, and they're always correct, right?)





	When the Door Begins to Crack

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Rough Trade July 2017. It was basically a challenge to write a season of episodes for a chosen TV show. Unfortunately, due to Real Life, I was only able to finish one episode in the challenge time. I do have more planned (and episode 2 is halfway done).
> 
> This was a completely out-of-the-blue plotbunny, but I think it turned out well.
> 
> WITCHER FANS! Fair warning: I'm changing several things in order to fit Witchers into the Teen Wolf universe. I have not read the books (they are on my To Read list), so everything I know of the Witcher series comes from the video games.
> 
> Please enjoy!

**3:45 PM**  

Laura sat in her rental car just past the boundaries of Beacon County. It was mid-afternoon, and the few folks on the highway ignored the yellow Mustang on the side of the road. Laura closed her eyes against the sun and dropped her forehead onto her hands, propped up on the steering wheel.

Billie had warned her, but she hadn’t expected it to feel this…weird.

***

_“Beacon Hills is pretty out of your way, Billie.” Laura juggled her phone as she tried to hold it to her ear and mix pancakes at the same time. “I thought you were just going for that meeting in LA.”_

_“That was my main priority, yes.” Billie Lurk’s voice was smooth, with a hint of a rumble underneath. She was a sorceress, the Emissary for New York City’s pack, and held the respect of supernaturals the world over, to the point where she was often called in to moderate major disputes. “However, I heard some strange things from one of the covens in Hollywood. I decided to drive through and take a quick look. I know your uncle is still there.”_

_There was a moment of silence. Laura frowned and set the bowl of batter aside. After a quick auditory check of the apartment—both Derek and Cora were gone—Laura gave the phone her full attention._

_“Is Uncle Peter all right?”_

_“I didn’t see him; the home is pretty strict about who gets to visit the patients, which is commendable. However, I did wander through town. There is a…strange feeling there. There are a large number of supernaturals living in Beacon Hills now, more than I saw when I visited the Hale Pack for the first time, all those years ago.”_

_“That’s not too surprising.” Laura paced into the living room. “Beacon Hills has always been a nexus for supernatural activity, it’s why the Hales settled there in the first place. To keep the peace. Maybe our reputation is enough for supernaturals to settle there despite our absence?”_

_“Perhaps. It’s just—“ Billie hesitated, and Laura stiffened; Billie was strong, a knowledgeable and experienced Emissary, and for her to be hesitant? Laura didn’t like the implications._

_“It’s just a weird feeling,” Billie finally said. “Like something was hovering over my shoulder the whole time I was there, as if the territory itself was watching me. Honestly, it felt like the time I visited a mixed supernatural and mundane village in Africa; the feeling didn’t go away until I met and was accepted by the local protector, a man who was only introduced as a kind of warrior with magic. I assumed he was just a special kind of hedgewizard, but…I’m beginning to wonder.”_

_Laura let out a breath. “Did you tell Léon?”_

_“No, Laura, I called a non-affiliated Alpha about a strange occurrence I encountered before I talked to my own Alpha.” Billie’s voice was as dry as dust. Laura laughed and rubbed at her eyes. Her instincts had always been difficult to ignore, especially with the way Alphahood had been thrust upon her. Now, after hearing about their ancestral territory possibly under the control of an unknown, with her bedridden uncle still in the area—they were snarling under her skin._

_“Thanks for telling me, Billie.” Laura grabbed her laptop, even as she heard Derek and Cora coming up the apartment stairs. They could make the pancakes when they got in; she opened a browser and pulled up flights from New York to California._

_Billie seemed to know what she was doing. “Be careful, Laura. Whatever it was, it didn’t seem dangerous to me, but it wasn’t_ my _territory.” The woman sighed. “And please don’t be an idiot Alpha when you get there; I should hope I managed to get some diplomacy into you during Léon’s ‘Alpha lessons’.”_

_“Cross my heart, Billie, I’ll be a very good girl and promise not to bite anyone’s nose off.”_

*** 

_Tap tap tap._

Laura jerked her head up, barely suppressing the urge to flare her eyes. A young man in a uniform was knocking at her window. Pressing a hand to her racing heart, she reached over and rolled down the window.

“Hello?”

“Hi, I just wanted to check on you; we got a call from a concerned driver about a young woman in a Mustang who might be sick or injured. Are you okay?”

Laura blinked up at him. He was tall, with a badge that said _Deputy Sheriff _—_ Beacon Hills, CA _ and a nametag that read _Parrish_. “I’m fine, Deputy Parrish. I was just taking a moment to rest; it’s been a long drive from Sacramento.”

“Sacramento? Do you live there, miss…?”

“Hale. And no, I live in New York.”

Watching him as she was, Laura saw Deputy Parrish’s eyes narrow behind his sunglasses. “Hale? Are you Laura Hale, by any chance?”

Laura’s claws itched. That _watching_ sensation intensified. “Yes, actually.” Laura took a breath, testing his scent. He smelled almost human, but had the faintest hints of fur and brimstone. She had never encountered that before. He seemed to notice her action, and smiled at her. A fang peeked out; not enough for a threat, but enough to make her tense.

“Well, I suppose I should say welcome home, Alpha Hale.” He tapped a hand on the car’s roof and stepped back. “You might want to be on your way before another concerned citizen calls us about you; sitting out here in the sun like that, leaning on the wheel like you’re sick, it makes the other drivers nervous.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She moved to roll up her window, when he stepped back in closer and bent down, pulling off his sunglasses. His eyes were brown and very sharp.

“It’s my understanding that Beacon Hills has changed in the years since you left, Alpha Hale. If you’ll take my advice, you might want to have a chat with the Sheriff when you get into town.”

“I’ll consider it, deputy.” Her voice was cool, as the Alpha in her rebelled at the thought of having to _check in_ with the authorities like she was some kind of outsider. Unknown watcher or not, this was _her_ damn territory!

Parrish watched her for a moment, then shrugged and slipped his sunglasses back on. “Very well, Alpha Hale. Have a good day.”

Laura watched him in the rearview mirror as he got in his car and drove away. The watching sensation was still there, and the way it had distracted her so much that she hadn’t heard the deputy walk up to the window _—_ well, that was concerning. Laura sighed and stretched out, then stopped. There were holes in her flats. She looked down and groaned.

She had popped her toe-claws when Parrish startled her. There were five neat holes in each shoe; she hadn’t done that on accident since she was twelve.

“Aw, damn it.”

***

**4:20 PM**

As soon as his patrol was done, Jordan Parrish went straight to the Sheriff’s Station. He walked into a scene of organized chaos; when he slowed down, Ramirez just waved a file at him.

“Another death, Parrish. Go see the boss, then we’re going to need you for sweeps of the Preserve.”

“Got it.” Parrish slipped through the chaos and through the Sheriff’s open door. He closed it behind him.

At the sound, Sheriff John Stilinski glanced up from the pile of papers and photos on his desk. “Parrish? Checked that call from Mrs. Willoughby?”

“Yes sir, that’s why I’m here.”

John leaned back in his chair. “There’s forms for this sort of thing, you know.”

“Yeah, but not every call-out means I end up talking to the freaking _Alpha werewolf of Beacon Hills_.”

The noise outside hushed for a moment, and Parrish rolled his eyes. Between the gossipy doppler as the department secretary and the fact that a good half of the deputies were of the supernatural persuasion, he didn’t know why he bothered to close the office door. John stood up and banged on the door; the noise returned.

“Gossip hounds.” He muttered. “No offense, Parrish.”

“None taken.”

“So, Laura Hale, huh?”

“Yeah, sitting in a car on the side of the road. Looked a little fuzzy around the edges, I can see why Mrs. Willoughby thought she was sick.”

“Did she say anything?”

“Only that she had pulled over to rest because of the long drive from Sacramento; apparently she flew in today. The car’s definitely a rental.” He wrinkled his nose. “It smelled awful, I don’t know how she managed to drive it at all.”

John hummed and crossed his arms, staring into space. “Nothing about _why_ she’s here, after so many years?”

“Nothing. I suggested she come see you when she gets in, but _—_ ”

“But Alpha stubbornness and so on, plus the fact that the territory’s changed since she left, so she’s probably off balance. And no pack with her?”

“None, just her.”

“Damn. So no betas to keep her stable.”

“Do you think that’s really a concern, sir? From what I understand, Hale Alphas were generally known for their even temper.”

John huffed out a laugh. “Maybe before the fire, son, but now she’s in her family territory, that we _know_ has changed in certain ways, having had Alphahood thrust on her due to horrific tragedy that led to a pack of fifteen becoming a pack of three. Four, if we count Peter Hale, but…”

“But they left him here.”

“Exactly. Not that I blame her for running, considering, but it’s been years, and they haven’t even visited. And now we have a young Alpha here for an unknown reason, alone, just when we have this murderer running around.”

“Official stance is still animal attacks?” Parrish glanced out the office window at the milling officers. John snorted and dropped down in his chair.

“Of course it is. Not like we can tell the media ‘oh, a werewolf or something similar is running around killing folks, please stay out of the preserve’.” He shuffled some papers and slid a thin file toward Parrish. “Here, the profile on the latest victim. Reddick was a known arsonist, official story is that he went into the Preserve to play with new techniques and was attacked by a cougar. His partner in crime, Unger, is missing, which is why we’re sweeping the forest.”

“And the unofficial story?”

“Unsure, though Stiles has been blowing up my phone with texts since the story aired, so he probably has a theory.” John shook his head with a smile, which Parrish returned. “Go join the others. I’ll be with the coroner, and then updating the mayor before I come back to the office.”

“Got it. I’ll inform Ramirez. What about Alpha Hale?”

“I’ll inform the appropriate parties, and _—_ ” John frowned, then picked up his desk phone. “Nadine? Call Thompson and Jones, have them include the nursing home in their usual patrols, would you? Thanks.” He hung up, then glanced at Parrish. “Keep your eyes peeled in the woods, Jordan. If this murderer is hiding there, I doubt they’ll stop at killing unarmed people”

“Yes sir.” 

*** 

**5:30 PM**

Laura ambled along Beacon Hills’ main street, looking over the new and old businesses, trying to match them with her memories. The diner was still here _—_ she knew Derek still dreamed about their burgers, sometimes he talked in his sleep _—_ but the bakery with the amazing donuts had turned into a music store, and the used bookstore was now a health foods store, of all things. That was disappointing.

The Veterinary Clinic, however, was in its usual place. A pair of boys _—_ teenagers, probably about fifteen _—_ tumbled out the front door. The Hispanic kid was giving his friend a noogie; Laura dodged flailing limbs, a grin on her face as the friend loudly protested. The lanky kid’s eyes met hers as they stumbled past. They were amber brown, wide with surprise and laughter. She caught a whiff of them: Axe, sweat, and medicine, ugh. High school had been bad enough when she was a teenager, she never needed to smell it again. Although, she caught a hint of coconut, like Derek’s favorite shampoo. And what was that metallic scent?

Before she could take another breath, the boys were gone, hopping into a blue Jeep that had seen better days. Laura shrugged _—_ no need to be curious, they were just teenagers _—_ and slipped through the clinic’s door. The front office was surprisingly quiet, but she could hear a cacophony of barks and hissing as the animals in the back smelled her. She sidled up to the mountain ash desk and rang the bell.

That watching sensation reappeared as Deaton appeared from the back. She hadn’t even noticed it had gone until it returned.

“Laura. This is quite the surprise, I didn’t expect to see you in Beacon Hills.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t expect to be back.” She slipped through the barrier as he opened the gate for her. “A friend came through town and told me some concerning things.”

Deaton waved her through to the back office, his face placid. “You mean the deaths? I believe they’re animal attacks, nothing for the Alpha to be concerned about.”

Laura sank into a chair in front of Deaton’s desk. “Deaths? What deaths? She just said something about shifting territory and an abundance of supernaturals.”

The wrinkles around the Druid’s eyes tightened, but his expression remained calm. “The police have found dead humans in the Preserve in the last few days. Only one or two, but considering they were attacked by something with claws, they are assuming an animal attack and warning people to stay away from the woods. Now, what is this about shifting territory?”

“Not... _shifting_ territory, exactly. She just said she felt something watching her while she was here, like she was in unfriendly territory. I thought maybe it had something to do with your presence, perhaps?”

Deaton frowned slightly. “No, even as an Emissary, I do not have the power to create wards or some kind of monitoring spell. Who informed you of this? Perhaps they were mistaken.”

Laura gave him a wry look. “I doubt it. It was Billie Lurk.”

Deaton’s fingers twitched. “Ah. Sorceress Lurk.” He leaned forward a bit. “I’m afraid I do not know what she could have sensed. I am a Druid, and my powers run more toward the natural rather than the true arcane. It is possible she sensed something I cannot, and in that case, I doubt it is anything untoward. I keep the Balance, and it has not faltered.”

 _Not even when my family was killed?_ Laura kept her face calm. “So, you haven’t felt something watching you?”

Deaton gave her a sudden, sharp look. “Have you?”

Laura shrugged. “A little bit, but maybe it’s just all the gossips. I forgot how small-town Beacon Hills could be.” She suddenly didn’t want to tell him the truth; her mother had trusted Deaton, despite the detractors who said Druids could not be effective Emissaries, but Laura was not so sure, after this conversation. She sighed and stood. Deaton politely stood as well, and she held out her hand.

“Thank you, Dr. Deaton. I suppose my fears were unfounded.”

He shook her hand. “You’re welcome, Alpha Hale. Will your pack be returning to Beacon Hills?”

“I’ll head back to New York tomorrow, I think, after visiting Uncle Peter. I’ll discuss it with my pack, but it is a...possibility.”

A faint smile curled over Deaton’s face. “Then I hope to see you again. Safe travels, Alpha Hale.” 

*** 

**6:15 PM**

“So, Laura Hale’s in town, huh?”

John looked up and frowned as his son lounged in the door to his office. “And how would you know this?”

“I picked up Scott from his volunteer job at the vet clinic and she was coming in as we were leaving.” Stiles tilted his head; his earring glinted. “I got a _tingly_ feeling, so I asked Nadine about any newcomers in town when I came in. I barely recognized her, you know.”

“Well, it has been six years. I’m sure you would have recognized her if _Derek_ had joined her.”

Stiles went bright red and flailed his elbow right into the doorframe. “ _Oh my god_ , Dad!”

John smirked and went back to his paperwork. “What? I’m just saying, I doubt he lost those impressive eyebrows when he grew up. Pretty distinctive.”

“Shut up, _oh my god_.”

“Was there something else, or did you just come to be nosy?”

Stiles dropped into a chair with a huff, still red. He rummaged through his satchel and pulled out a sheaf of paper. “I’ve got the connection between the bodies.”

“Really?” John took the papers and began to shuffle through them. “You included Unger? We haven’t found him yet, he could still be alive.”

“I doubt it.” Stiles’ voice was grim. “I snuck a look at the scene before I picked up Scott. I’m pretty sure our killer is a shifter, likely a wolf, and there was a trail where it dragged a body away from the site where you found Reddick. Big trail too; whoever did it didn’t care about being followed at all, the shifter’s probably insane or rabid or something, good grief, it was practically a neon arrow pointing the way, which makes me wonder if you should train the deputies to track or something, ‘cause really, missing _that_?”

John sighed. “You have an advantage, remember. Did you at least point it out to someone?”

“Yeah, Conners was there, but the other two were mundane _—_ we’ve still got mundanes not in the know, apparently _—_ so I had to be careful. He knows, you should get a call about it soon.”

“Great.” John frowned down at the papers. “So all three: Reddick, Unger, and the first victim, Garrison Myers. Reddick and Unger I can understand dying violently. Both were criminals, arsonists. But Myers? He was a bus driver.”

Stiles popped up and pulled out another paper, slapping it down in front of his dad. “Ah, but look! Before he drove buses, he was an insurance investigator!”

“...and ruled the Hale fire an accident.” John blinked down at the paper. “And the other two?”

“I got one of the dopplers down the road to do me a favor, and they shifted into one of the boys you have in lockup and had a nice, anonymous chat with Reddick and Unger a week ago, before the shifter got them. I was going to tell you, I swear! I was just following a hunch for my own investigation and, well, it turns out those two helped set the fire?”

John stared at his son’s sheepish face, then groaned. “Dammit. So all three were involved in the fire? It was definitely arson?”

“Well yeah, we already knew that, but now we know it better?” Stiles shrugged.

John snorted. He shuffled the papers back into a pile and handed it back to Stiles. “I’m assuming you’ll want to keep these; I can’t do anything about it when the county is still insisting these are animal attacks.”

“I figured.” Stiles slipped the papers into his satchel. “I’ll see you at home. It’s breakfast for dinner tonight, I didn’t manage to get to the store.”

“Bacon?” John piped up hopefully; there were a couple snickers outside the door and Stiles waved a dismissive hand.

“Yeah, _turkey_ bacon.”

“Ugh.”

“Yeah yeah, complain all you want, but I saw your cholesterol results! You’re going to eat healthy and _like_ it.”

“We’ll see about that,” John muttered.

Stiles rolled his eyes and moved to leave, but halfway out the door, he stopped. He leaned back in and fixed serious eyes on his dad.

“Dad? Can you do me a favor?”

John frowned. “It depends on the favor, you know.”

“I know you took a late patrol tonight, since Deputy Calvin’s on maternity leave. Is it the one by the nursing home? Where Peter Hale is?”

“Yes, actually. Why?”

Stiles hesitated. “I just _—_ I have a bad feeling, okay. Can you take a partner with you? Maybe Parrish, or Ramirez?”

John nodded slowly. He knew better than to dismiss his son’s ‘feelings’. “Ramirez has a family thing, he’s leaving early, but I should be able to snag Parrish for a final patrol.”

Stiles’ shoulders slumped in relief. “Great. I bet nothing will happen, but Laura Hale showing up and this weird rabid shifter and everything...it’s got my hackles up. Thanks, Dad. I’ll be at home tonight; Scott is having dinner with his mom and I have a project to work on. I’ll see you later.”

“Bye, son.” John watched him leave with a slight frown. It was a rather big coincidence, Laura Hale showing up just as they were dealing with the murders of men who assisted in setting and covering up the fire that destroyed her pack. And just when Stiles was making progress on his personal project. He let out an annoyed huff and bent back to his work.

It was probably nothing, but he would be careful all the same. 

*** 

 **6:20 PM**  

Laura resisted the urge to bare her fangs at the pretentious little snit in front of her. “Again, my name is Laura Hale. My uncle is Peter Hale and he is _in this facility_. I would _appreciate_ it if you could let me see him.”

“And as _I_ told you before, Ms. Hale, visiting hours are over for the day.” The woman on the front desk was unmoved and obviously unamused by her insistence. “We cannot change policy.”

“Look, lady _—_ ”

“Ms. Hale, visiting hours resume tomorrow at 8 AM. I’m sure you’ll be able to wait a few hours, considering you’ve already waited six years.” Laura’s breath caught at the indignation and disgust that was pouring off the woman’s scent and she clenched her fists. “Please leave.”

Laura growled low and rushed through the front doors. Out in the sunlight, she took a deep gulp of fresh air, shoving the feelings of anger and guilt deep down inside. That woman didn’t know anything about them, her judgment had no bearing on their situation, she was just following the rules. Laura shuddered; she could smell Peter as soon as she entered the building, and it was so difficult to keep from barging through to his room, regardless of rules.

“Ms. Hale?”

Laura had heard the footsteps. She glanced to the side to see a redheaded woman in nurse’s scrubs standing nearby. The nurse smelled of antiseptic and chalky medicine, like most medical professionals, but underneath Laura could smell the scent of leather, vanillin, and cashmere that had always meant _Uncle Peter_.

“I’m Jennifer, Peter Hale’s night nurse.” Jennifer held out her hand, and Laura shook it. “I heard what happened at the front desk.”

Laura sighed. “Yeah, that was...interesting.”

“Monica has always been a bit too big on rules, and she’s not a fan of people who seemingly abandon helpless relatives.” Jennifer waved a hand as Laura opened her mouth. “Don’t worry, I’m not judging, I’m sure you had your reasons. But sometimes you need to bend the rules to help families.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, if you come by later tonight _—_ say around ten-thirty? _—_ I can sneak you in to see your uncle.”

Jennifer’s heart didn’t skip a beat. Laura began to smile. “Really? You can? Normally I would wait, but I was planning to fly back to New York tomorrow, and I don’t know when I’ll be back…”

“I certainly can, I’ve done it before. I’ll see you tonight?”

“Definitely. Thank you so much!”

“It’s no problem, Ms. Hale. Just be careful, yes? I hear there’s a dangerous animal killing folks, though you shouldn’t have a problem, since the killings have centered in the Preserve. Have a good evening!” Jennifer slipped back into the building and Laura, her instincts appeased with the promise of a visit, walked back to her car. Time to find something to eat and while away the time until ten-thirty.

She never noticed the small, childlike figure hiding behind a nearby tree and watching with luminous eyes as she drove away. 

*** 

**10:50 PM**

Jennifer was late. Laura leaned on the wall next to the nursing home’s back door, hearing the faint creaking noise as her fingers tightened on the sleeves of her leather jacket. She had returned a bit early and scouted the area for cameras, just in case. There was CCTV in the area, of course, but surprisingly, none with a view of the back door.

_I mean, I guess no one expects someone to break into a nursing home, but still._

So she had been waiting for a good thirty minutes already. Jennifer had yet to appear, and the home was silent. Laura’s ears could only catch the faint buzzing of various machines and the breathing patterns of nearby patients. If any night nurses were doing their rounds, they weren’t anywhere near her. What was taking Jennifer so long?

A sudden clatter of metal from inside the building made her jump. There was a cut-off shriek, a gurgle, and a thump, just on the edge of her hearing range.

“Oh, fuck this.” Laura grabbed the door and yanked it open. The flimsy lock strained and broke with a snap, and Laura darted into the hall. She had a vague idea of the layout, from the one visit when they had placed Peter in the home. As she ran to the area of the sounds, she realized that Peter’s scent was growing stronger. There was an acrid tint to it, one she couldn’t place, and she put it out of her mind.

Laura careened around the corner and slid to a stop. Jennifer lay before an open door, staring with wide, unseeing eyes at the ceiling. Her throat had been cut. Inside the room, a hospital bed was overturned, and the window was open. She sucked in a deep breath; this was Peter’s room. She ran to the window and saw a pale figure in the distance, moving toward the Preserve.

“What the hell?” She leapt out the window and dashed toward that distant figure. A minute later, there was a faint shriek behind her, and Laura grimaced. Another night nurse must have found Jennifer’s body. There were already sirens in the distance. Laura put on speed, determined to find her wayward pack member and figure out what was happening before the human police got involved.

As Laura followed Peter into the Preserve, she gained a small, darting shadow. It flickered unseen in her footsteps as she pounded through the trees.

Caught up in the chase, Laura allowed herself to shift, her eyes blazing red. This was an untouched part of the forest, thick with undergrowth and entwined trees. Peter’s route was erratic, rambling, but quick, _how the hell was a formerly catatonic man so damned quick_?

It was when she passed the live oak that she realized where Peter was headed. The tree had been a bit smaller six years ago, but its branches _—_ long, wide, and low to the ground _—_ had made a perfect place for young werewolves to climb. There was an argument, at some point, and in a fit of temper, Cora had used her claws to carve CORA’S TREE, ONLY CORA ALLOWED in the trunk. Laura brushed her hand over the words; the edges were worn smooth, but the letters still stood out, pale against the treebark.

 _He’s going home_.

Remembered fear and pain churned in her gut alongside long-held guilt and anger. Laura followed the faint path, overgrown and rocky, until she finally stepped into the clearing that held the Hale Pack’s house.

The remnants of the house stood dark in the middle of the clearing. There was faint light from the quarter-moon, but it merely lengthened the shadows. She could see her father’s garden from here; the surviving plants had run wild. The smell of grass and rotting wood were tinted with the long-remembered hint of smoke. The fire had been so hot…

Laura shook away the memory and cautiously moved forward. Peter was standing with his back to her, staring at the house, wearing nothing but cotton pants and a hospital gown. She stopped five feet away and cleared her throat.

“Uncle Peter?”

There was a moment of silence. Laura could hear his heartbeat, thumping a slow metronome, different from the one she had memorized years ago. He shuffled around, and met her wide red gaze with blank eyes. Scars crawled up his face and under the collar of his gown. He didn’t seem to recognize her. She inched forward.

“Uncle Peter? It’s me. It’s Laura.”

No response. Swallowing hard, Laura took another step closer, and reached out her hand. At the same time, she reached out along the pack bonds. Ignoring the bright spaces where Derek and Cora were, she stretched to a space that had long been blocked off. As a new Alpha, she hadn’t been able to handle her uncle’s pain, even in his comatose state, and had closed off her side of the pack bond in self-preservation. She had never reopened it.

The walls fell.

Within a moment, Laura cried out at the rage and pain that assaulted her, even as Peter’s eyes flashed bright, brilliant blue. His face twisted into a snarl and he leapt forward, his claws reaching for her throat. Shocked, Laura stumbled back, throwing herself to the side. Peter hit the ground and whirled to face her. His mind continued to pour hatred and rage and remembered pain into the bond _—_ God, Laura could practically hear her cousins’ screams _—_ even as he threw himself at her. Laura scrambled away, caught between her uncle’s mental instability and physical threat. Again and again, he attacked her, always aiming for the kill. Again and again, she dodged, shouting at him, pleading with him to stop, to no avail.

Until her foot hit a stone _—_ the edge of the garden, Peter had backed her up toward the house _—_ and she fell backward. Her throat and belly were terrifyingly vulnerable. Peter dropped on top of her, his claws reaching for her throat. For a moment, his eyes seemed to clear, and he stared down at her.

“I’m sorry, niece.” His voice cracked.

“Peter, don’t!”

His claws began to pierce her skin and Laura screamed, trying to lash out _—_

“Oh no, mustn’t do that, wolfman.”

A small wave of force shoved Peter off Laura. He rolled along the ground, coming to a stop against the remains of the front porch. Laura struggled to her feet as a childlike voice began to sing.

_“A man of words and not of deeds is like a garden full of weeds. And when the weeds begin to grow it’s like a garden full of snow. And when the snow begins to fall it’s like a bird upon the wall. And when the bird away does fly it’s like an eagle in the sky.”_

The air around them seemed to shift. Peter tried to stand, and fell back to his knees, as if gravity pulled his limbs. The trees shifted in Laura’s vision. She squinted, trying to stabilize her sight; it made it worse. The voice giggled, echoing in their ears.

_“And when the sky begins to roar it’s like a lion at the door. And when the door begins to crack it’s like a stick across your back. And when your back begins to smart it’s like a penknife in your heart. And when your heart begins to bleed, you’re dead, and dead, and dead indeed.” **[1]** _

Laura gasped as the sense of Peter vanished, the bond hidden behind walls; this time, from his side. Peter howled, his eyes glowing with rage. Despite the strange force keeping him on the ground, his features began to shift. His claws dug into the ground and he tried to haul himself toward her. Her own wolf howled inside her, and her hands had already shifted. Her eyes bled red, and she snarled right back at him as his image wavered like the trees.

“That is quite enough of that.”

With a strangely muffled _boof_ , something burst between them and a cloud of silvery dust filled the air. Laura gasped in a breath and immediately began to cough; she could hear Peter hacking as well. Her wolf began to rage, and she snarled, attempting to shift _—_ and she couldn’t. She lifted her hand; human, completely, manicure and nail polish and all. Even Peter’s snarls had died away.

“I apologize, Ms. Hale, but I would rather you not harm myself or my deputy.”

Laura glanced over, shaking slightly _—_ she couldn’t even flare her eyes, _what the fuck _—__ and saw a familiar young man snapping what looked like reinforced cuffs on Peter, whose transformation had completely died away and whose eyes were clear. A couple feet away stood an older man with greying brown hair, whose badge read _Sheriff_. He eyed her as the silvery dust settled.

“I am Sheriff Stilinski, Ms. Hale. You may remember me as a deputy, last time you were in Beacon Hills.”

His face _was_ vaguely familiar. Laura frowned, and spoke through a scratchy throat.

“I also remember that you were _mundane_. What the hell was that? Why can’t I shift?”

There was a low, raspy chuckle as Peter struggled to his feet. The deputy _—_ Parrish, she remembered, the one who smelled like brimstone _—_ kept one careful hand on Peter’s elbow and another on his holstered sidearm.

“Were you in on it too, John?” Peter had a strange smile on his face; it made Laura uneasy. Stilinski’s face was like stone. “In league with the hunters? Buying toys from them?”

His stone facade dropped and Stilinski looked impossibly sad for a moment. “The fact that you can even think that of an old friend just proves you’re not in your right mind, Peter. Your logic isn’t working; if I had been working with hunters, do you really think you would have survived till now? Would anyone have survived the fire?” Stilinski looked at the dust on the ground. “And have you ever heard of hunters using something like this?”

Peter looked somewhat taken aback. He blinked at the grass and the shimmery residue on his skin. “No,” he said slowly, “even I have never heard of something like this.” He glanced around at the forest. “And there is something...different in the air. The town has changed.” He trailed off with a look of confusion.

“So this dust is why I can’t shift; is it the cause of Peter’s returned sanity?” Laura asked bluntly. “Because when I touched the bond he was fucking insane.”

Stilinski shook his head. “Ah, no, that was a friend’s doing. We were too far away when Peter pinned you, and in his rage he was going to kill you, but...well, you’ve been tailed since you visited the nursing home, and they decided to intervene.”

Tailed? She hadn’t noticed anyone! “Who?”

A giggle whispered around them, and then a small, dark blue hand grasped the sheriff’s jacket. A face peeked around him; a squashed, strangely weathered face, with large, luminescent eyes and a wreath of sticks and leaves around its wild black hair.

“Bad wolfman was gonna eat you, steal your eyes and steal your pack and make blood run.” It chirped; it sounded male. “Stopped him cold, didn’t I? Stopped his claws, stopped his mind.” It stepped around, taking the sheriff’s hand, and Laura could see that it was, indeed, male, and the size of a small child. “I did well, yes? Cookies now?”

The sheriff chuckled. “Yes, you did very well, Alfonso, thank you. He should have some waiting for you.”

Alfonso cheered and in a mere blink, disappeared. Stilinski turned his attention back to Laura, who stiffened.

“Wait, his name is Alfonso?” Peter wondered. He couldn’t see it, but Laura got a good view of Sheriff Stilinski rolling his eyes.

“Yes, apparently he chose it himself, sometime in the 16th century.”

Laura and Peter choked. Parrish smirked and started to chivvy Peter toward the waiting police car. “Yeah, might look like a kid, might act like a kid, but godlings are nothing to mess with. Never, ever question his name in his hearing. He gets a little...miffed.”

“Right.” Laura moved toward the car. The sheriff was polite, but he was obviously escorting her. She huffed in annoyance. “I’m not going to do anything, sheriff. Especially not after whatever it was has kept us from shifting.”

“Ability to shift or not, you’re still a young Alpha who’s come home to her territory for the first time in years and nearly got murdered by her uncle, who’s basically insane despite Alfonso’s magical assistance.” Stilinski gave her a wry look. “Humor an old man.”

“Old man my ass.” Peter muttered as Parrish carefully helped him into the backseat. Laura saw a slow flush ride up Stilinski’s cheeks _—_ holy shit, how well _had_ Peter and Stilinski known each other? _—_ and Parrish muffled a snicker as he slipped into the driver’s seat. Stilinski shot his deputy a sharp look and shut the door after Laura hopped into the backseat with Peter, who was still cuffed.

“So, _sheriff_. Where are we going? The hospital? The sheriff’s station? Are we arrested?” Peter smirked. “You never read me my rights, you know. No patdown either, such a shame.”

Laura hissed at Peter to shut up, but Stilinski merely snorted. “Still a smarmy ass, aren’t you? You’ll see when we get there.”

Now, _that_ was not something Laura liked the sound of. She leaned forward. “So, what? You’re going to deliver us to hunter justice while we’re somewhat helpless? Hold us in mountain ash until you figure out what to do?”

“You’re only helpless for a short amount of time,” Stilinski corrected her. “Moon dust doesn’t last too long, at least not in the concentration I used. And,” he turned back to them, his eyes deadly serious, “I am not affiliated with hunters in any way. Especially not the Argents.”

Peter stiffened and Laura frowned. “The Argents?”

Parrish coughed. Stilinski searched her face for a moment. “You don’t know who set the fire?”

Laura felt her muscles tense in preparation for a shift, but her body stayed entirely human. This _moon dust_ was very disconcerting. “I knew it was arson. I knew it was probably hunters. I just didn’t know _who_.”

Stilinski sighed and ran a hand over his face. “Well, while I don’t know how Peter knew, I can say with certainty that Kate Argent is the one who masterminded the fire.”

“...well, fuck.” The Argents? Major players in the Hunters’ Council, oldest name in hunting Argents? Laura groaned and pressed a hand to her eyes. Fuck, what the hell did they do now?

“And how did you discover this, John?” Peter had gone still, his eyes fixed on the sheriff, who smiled.

“Well, Stilinskis are curious. Too curious for their own good, some might say.”

“We’re here.” Parrish stopped the car in front of a small suburban home. The porch light was on, and a few windows glowed yellow. The deputy glanced over the werewolves in the back, then looked at Stilinski. “Should I come in with you, sir?”

“No need, Parrish. Ms. Hale shouldn’t be a problem, and I think we can deal with Peter if he gets antsy. Especially if Alfonso is still here.”

“Right. I’ll take the car and pick you up tomorrow, then.”

“Thanks, Parrish.” Stilinski slid out of the car. Laura followed his example as Stilinski warily helped Peter out of the backseat. Parrish gave them a final look, then drove off.

“Is this your _house_?” Laura asked in bewilderment. Stilinski lifted a brow at her as he unlocked the front door.

“Yes.”

“My my, John.” Peter murmured. Laura grabbed his elbow and hustled him in behind Stilinski as Peter continued, “I thought such a law-abiding man would take me straight to jail.”

Stilinski kept moving down the hallway toward a lighted doorway. “What, for attempted murder? Is this your confession for killing Reddick, Unger, and Myers?”

“Wait, what?” Laura looked between them. “You _killed_ people?”

“Eh, perhaps.” Peter shrugged, looking remarkably insouciant.

“ _Perhaps_?”

“Really, Laura, that tone is uncalled for.”

“You fucking _killed_ people, this tone is definitely _called for _—__ ”

“But really, John,” Peter strolled into what turned out to be the kitchen, Laura right on his heels. “Am I not being brought up before the law?”

“Oh, sure.” Stilinski agreed. He leaned against the kitchen counter. “But who said I was delivering you to _human_ law?”

 _Wait, what?_ Laura pushed forward. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

There was a snort behind them. Laura turned and looked down. This moon dust was really fucking messing with her senses, because she hadn’t even noticed the teenager sitting at the kitchen table, with a godling eating peanut butter cookies right next to him. The boy smirked up at them.

“See, in this town, _I_ am the law.”

There was a moment of silence as Laura and Peter stared down at him, then Stilinski groaned.

“Really, Stiles?”

“Aw, come on, I’ve been waiting ages for a chance to use that line! But seriously, when it comes to the supernatural?” The teenager stood up and his eyes flared gold; his pupils slit like a cat’s, dilating in the light. “I really kinda am the law. And you have seriously been messing with my plans, man, not cool. We’re so damn close to taking Kate Argent down, but you’re killing all our witnesses!” The boy waved a hand at the files spread across the kitchen table; there were photos, evidence reports, testimonies...everything was stacked and color-coded.

“Tsk tsk, John.” Peter suddenly clicked his tongue. “You’re trying to police the supernatural? And dragging your son into it?”

Stilinski snorted. “More like _he_ dragged _me_ , actually.”

“What the hell are you?” Laura demanded. Stiles looked her over, then smiled. His eyes seemed to glitter, and she noticed a silver earring in his left ear; shaped like a snarling wolf’s head, its ruby eyes were _glowing_. He reached out and touched her shoulder. There was something like an electric spark. Her hair stood on end, and suddenly the moon dust lifted off her skin, trickling to the ground.

That watching feeling, which had become background noise over the day, just vanished. Laura gasped and stared at the teenager. Peter was stock still nearby, his eyes wide. He seemed to have realized something.

“That’s impossible. They died out centuries ago.”

“That’s what _your_ texts say. But here I am.” Stiles swept his arms out, his lanky body on display in pajama pants and a tank top. Peter staggered to a chair and sat down; Alfonso, his mouth stuffed full, patted him gently on the arm and offered him a cookie.

Flaring her eyes Alpha-red, Laura ignored the sheriff as he started upright and met Stiles’ golden cat’s-eyes head on. “What are you? Answer me! This is my territory; whatever Peter knows, I need to know!”

Stiles’ smile dropped, and the temperature seemed to dip with his icy voice. “You would do well not to order me around, Alpha Hale. I’m not part of your pack, nor is this entirely your territory anymore. But,” his voice warmed somewhat, “I understand you’ve had a bad day, so I’ll cut you some slack. See, your uncle is kind of right; my people were thought to have gone extinct centuries ago, when various supernatural and hunter groups decided they didn’t want oversight anymore.”

Laura’s eyes widened and she dropped the Alpha red altogether. The clues were coming together; the eyes, the earring, the metallic scent that she now realized was _silver_ , the magic...and the insane number of supernaturals that were living in Beacon Hills.

“Holy shit.”

Stiles grinned a wolfish grin. “Nice to meet you, Alpha Laura Hale. I’m Stiles Stilinski, and I’m a Witcher.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> [1] "A Man of Words and Not of Deeds" — English nursery rhyme, circa the 16th century
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this first story! The crossover is a bit strange, but I'm having quite a lot of fun with it! :)
> 
> Kudos to those who caught the Dishonored reference!


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